


Imagine: Walter Skinner

by ElizabethJaneway1158



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, imagine prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13205832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethJaneway1158/pseuds/ElizabethJaneway1158
Summary: You are an original female character who is handed a wonderful opportunity to be with the Assistant Director.





	Imagine: Walter Skinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helen8462](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/gifts).



> Walter Skinner is a personal favorite. I would love to have an opportunity to be loved by that large marshmallow with an armor of steel. 
> 
> For my beautiful Beta and motivational speaker, @Helen8462.

The sharp echo of your heels on the tile fill the empty hallway. It’s late. You’re tired. You’re hungry. You are in serious need of a glass of wine and a bath. Finally. You caught the bastard and the overwhelming sense of dread has left you frazzled and on edge. The _last_ thing you need or want is a God forsaken meeting—with Assistant Director Skinner of all people.

The A.D.’s been lurking around your team for the past month and a half. Are we being evaluated? Is one of the agents going to switch tracks? _You hope it’s Randall. What an ass._ Not really having thought about it until this moment, Walter Skinner has become a kind of presence in the bullpen. Which is odd. Didn’t he have an office for a reason? And why did he always seem to be studying _you_? _Not that you minded being scrutinized by a tall, handsome, successful man of power._

Seriously? This floor is _freezing._ Who works this late? Besides you. Ha. Yes. Well, that is a different story altogether. Why in the hell has Skinner summoned you at 9:45 at night? And by direct phone call, no less. You’re not one of his agents. Kersh made damn sure of that.

 _“You’re one of the finest agents in this bureau,”_ he had said with a leering appraisal of your Donna Karen suit skirt. Ugh. Sure. Fine. Whatever.

Even your good-for-nothing partner has been impressed. You’ve been ‘focused’ and ‘driven’. Indeed. _Focused_ so intently on the work to keep from _driving_ Brad Dawson’s head into the nearest fucking wall. Six months. _Six months of your God damned life wasted._ Just to see this asshole use you _and your work_ to climb the ladder.

_“I wrote that **entire** fucking profile…”_

Mumbling under your breath will solve nothing; now you’ve just pissed yourself off even more. _Jesus._

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, you’re taken aback by just how ratty you look. Blazer long gone, blouse wrinkled from constant tugging and adjusting, hair haphazardly tied back low on your head, make up barely holding up; this case has put you through the ringer.

Fuck. This whole _month_ has.

Just before you knock, the A.D. bids you entrance. The office is dark and cold, save for the faint light of his desk lamp. You shiver as he clears his throat and addresses you without looking away from his paperwork.

“I heard you coming. Please, close the door on your way in.”

Sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned; you can’t help letting your gaze linger over the bronzed skin exposed by the three loose buttons atop his tight dress shirt. Are you imagining things…or does he look good enough to—OhmyGod. Stop. Stop thinking.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Why does your voice sound so weak? Right. You haven’t spoken aloud since five this afternoon.

“Yes. Have a seat.”

The closer you get, the better the view. Just as you lower yourself into the freezing leather chair, your nostrils take in a wave of what’s quite possibly the most amazing scent you’ve ever experienced. _God_. That smell alone has you imagining doing things. Several things. _Inappropriate thin—_

“Agent?”

Shit.

“Yes. Ah, sorry, sir.”

“Are you alright?”

The slightest concern at your murmured ‘yes’ breaks through his rough façade and it warms your heart. You’ve never been able to resist a man with soulful eyes. And, Lord, does this man have them in spades. He drops his pen and shuts the dossier; bare arms flexing and continuing to stoke the fire low in your belly.

 _Get. A. Grip._ He goes through, what you assume to be, his end of the work day routine. Capping pens, stacking papers, gathering files. Each delicate movement he makes catches your attention, fascinates you. Yet the power that those muscles contain is what you are truly interested in. _Shit._ You shift in your seat to keep the dull ache between your thighs from becoming a steady throb.

“I apologize for the temperature. Heater has been out since the middle of the week. It’s not noticeable with the sun coming in the windows. Let me just say what I need to and you can be on your way.”

_He thinks you’re cold? Ha!_

A file on his desk catches your eye, “Sir? Is that—“

“The profile you turned into Kersh today? Yes. And I must say, this is brilliant work. I’m thinking the VCS might want to take a look at you in the near future.”

_Holy shit! Really?_

He chuckles to himself. Deep and pure. It’s odd and melodic. Rich and—wait. Why is he laughing? _Did you just—_

“I—Please excuse me, sir. I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s quite alright. Please. I’ve been in a bullpen or two.” He pauses. Closing the file and watching his fingers play across the folder. “I am not your direct superior and technically, duty hours are over; please, call me Walter.”

Now you know you’re dreaming. What the—Walter?! He smirks at you and slowly removes his glasses, observing you closely with something indescribable sparkling in his eyes.

“I know you wrote the profile on the Halloway case.” His face serious; mischief coloring his voice. Oh, no.

“No. No, si— _Walter_. I-I assisted and was there when they finally—“

“That’s bullshit. And you know it.”

Embarrassment burns brightly on your cheeks. The stress of the week and this fucking moment are starting to take their toll.

“I was less than a paragraph into your report this morning and I went looking for the Halloway profile.”

_Breathe. Just breathe. Fuck! Am I being put on report?_

“Dawson took all the credit. Even for the arrest. Which, I was later told because you stayed behind to administer CPR to the latest and final victim.”

He’s risen from his seat and rounded the desk. You’ve been concentrating so adamantly on what to say that you nearly jump from your skin at his proximity. There is nothing. No words dare to pass your lips. You lied. You gave him your profile and let him sign it as his own.

“What I want to know is,” he perches himself on the edge of his desk, strong legs crossed just beside the arm of your chair, “’why’?”

You shiver involuntarily. Partly from nervousness. Mostly from the fact that it is approximately fifty-eight degrees in this office. Or it could be the bone-deep exhaustion that is weighing down your limbs.

Wordlessly, he travels behind his desk, gathering his suit jacket and crosses to drape it gingerly over your shoulders. The scent is back. Stronger than ever. Assaulting you in full force. All you want to do is bury your face in the collar and breathe deeply.

“I did it because…,” the words are there. They’ve been there since Wednesday. You’re pissed. _Severely pissed._ Skinner knows this. He _has_ to. Leaning back against the desk’s edge he waits. The stone that’s been settled in the pit of your stomach for what seems like an eternity disintegrates in a flare of unbridled anger.

“Because I was fed up. I was tired of them dicking around the same four suspects while more people died! Jesus Christ! It was a disaster! No one cared what I had to say. So, I gave the report to Brad. They’d listen to him. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted them to get him. I _needed_ them to find that son of a bitch, lock him up, and gas him out of this life for good! That woman would have been just another statistic if we hadn’t caught him when we did, and I _just_ _couldn’t_ _live_ with reading about **_another_** body left to rot in that damned alleyway.”

You are barely breathing. It feels as if an impossible weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Skinner simply nods his head and flexes the arms that are crossed over his chest, seemingly deep in thought.

“I’m not reprimanding you, if that is part of what’s concerning you about this meeting. I was asked to evaluate whether or not you needed a psych consult after these past few months. Other agents have been noting some unhealthy habits forming.” You strain against the strong urge to roll your eyes and he continues. 

“I reviewed your file, looked in on your office and field work. You— _ahem—_ your _work_ started to intrigue me.” Skinner clears his throat and suddenly your hands folded in your lap become fascinating. _Did he just tell you that **you** ‘intrigued’ him?_

“You’re quick, efficient, intuitive; all wonderful qualities in an agent. On the other hand, Brad Dawson seems to be…lacking in those areas. Yet, he is the one who received the commendation. _Your_ commendation.” His voice takes on a seemingly unprofessional air.

“I also believe he has staked claim over something else of yours, if I’m not mistaken.”

That last statement draws a startled gasp from your lips. Was there _anyone_ Brad hadn’t bragged to?!

Instantly, he’s backpedaling.

“I apologize, I am—“

“No. No, uh.” _What in the hell are you doing?_ “That’s fine. It’s over. _Been_ over. Since wrapping that case.”

“He left you after using you and your profile?”

“I left _him.”_

“Ah. I see.” Skinner stretches his neck, working the muscles there and something he’s not sure he should say. “He’s an idiot for losing what he had.”

Your head snaps up and, instinctually, you pin him with a steely glare. He grins. Is he being—he’s acting smug! He’s doing his best to get you riled up. Alright. _Fine._ You grasp his lapels tighter and stare directly at him.

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Certainly. We’re off the clock, remember?” That playful glimmer in his dark eyes nearly catches you off guard.

“The men that work in that bullpen are assholes. Don’t believe any bullshit story you hear coming out of their mouths. Brad Dawson isn’t an idiot. He’s a fucking moron,” Your voice has taken on a rough gravel, vibrating behind your sternum; the soft laughter that leaves him pulls you along. A broad hand closes over your padded shoulder as Skinner moves to open the cabinet by the door. Decanter of whiskey and two glasses. _Sweet Jesus, yes._

“I could’ve told you that. Would you care fo—“

“God, yes.” Desperate. There’s no better way to describe the smoky reply that just slipped from between your lips. Goosebumps break out all over your body, in anticipation for the liquor or the prospect of having a drink with A.D. Skinner. _Davis isn’t going to believe this!_ You’re still not quite sure you believe it.

The glass is freezing. He returns to his position at the edge of the desk, offering his tumbler toward you as a toast.

“To Linda Wallace, and the fact that she is alive and well. To your hard work and determination to keep her that way.” He takes a swig and you can’t find it in you to raise the glass to your mouth. Nearly every emotion you’ve experienced over the last week and a half rain down hellfire on your subconscious.  

She’s alive. You’d nearly forgotten. After all the paperwork, the cups of coffee, last of the stale sandwiches from the lunch cart, all that _ridiculous_ macho celebratory bullshit you waded through today. You’d forgotten that look of pure terror as Linda Wallace clung to you. The crescent-shaped indentions that still colored your arms from her vice-like grip. You’d forgotten the tears. The pungent scent of gunfire and dried blood. The breathless sobbing and dirt stained faces. You’d nearly forgotten the bellowing howl she let out when that bastard was drug from his apartment into a squad car.

You’re crying. Not sure when you started or how to fucking stop. Large wet tears simmer in your eyes and burn across your cheeks. It feels wonderful to finally cry. There’s no slowing the deluge of your release. He’s kneeling next to you, gently removing the tumbler from your frozen hands. A callused finger guides your chin to meet his gaze.

There is no possible way to understand the intricacies of this man in front of you. Maybe the mystery is part of the attraction. His lips, his jaw; Walter Skinner is damn handsome. And caring. Compassionate. People often say he’s distant. Cold. _Just the opposite. Ohhhhh, **God.**_ It’s overwhelming. You close your eyes in an attempt to process—he’s pulling you to him. _Oh. My. God._

“You did a fine job. I know it, you know it, every last agent on that damn team knows it _.”_

You hold this man like a lifeline. The gentle murmur of his voice carries you away.

“Her children still have a mother, her mother still has a daughter, her husband has a wife; because you didn’t give up. You didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And **that** is what you need to take from this.”

Silent sobs wrack your frame as he massages your lower back through his jacket. The gesture is innocent. Borderline something else. Something more. Snuffling as gracefully as you can, you let your face slip into the inviting warmth of his neck. He stiffens briefly before pulling you closer.

“Forget Brad. Forget all those animals in that damned bullpen. All you need is those lives. Those lives you’ve saved. **That** is what you put your back up against.”

Your body awakens. He’s warm, sturdy, inviting; the firm planes of his chest beg you to touch it. The heat of him nearly scorches you; lips brushing lightly at the delicious stubble under his chin. Skinner sucks in a harsh breath; something akin to a growl rattles deep in his chest. Your moan ghosts his ear. Instantly, his mouth is on yours.

Wanting. Needing. Taking. This is the best damned kiss of your life. He’s devouring you and it’s alarmingly arousing. The bite of the whiskey clings to his tongue; he tastes salty and bitter. Your tears. You’re kissing through your tears.

 _“Mm…we should—_ You’re in no condition to—,”

 _“No. No.”_ He’s withdrawing. You drag his hot mouth back to yours. _“Want. You.”_ His lips falter, finding your cheek and your temple. The pain and pleasure war inside you. You crave it. It grounds you. _He_ grounds you. _“Need. You.”_ You worm your way back to his bottom lip and nip at it; arms snake under his and your fingernails find purchase on the crisp fabric of his shirt.

Encouraged, the bulk of his weight presses you back into the chair; you let your head fall back on a sigh and Skinner takes the opportunity to run his mouth along the column of your neck. _Holy shit._ Palm roughly dragging down your cleavage and cupping a breast. A rush of warmth floods your underwear. He traps your earlobe between his teeth and your legs open of their own volition.

Both of hands splay over you. He’s everywhere all at once. Covering you easily. His fingers finally meet, warm palms wonderfully encompassing the small of your back. Trailing lower and lower; lifting you with ease, he greedily grips your ass and drags you impossibly closer. The position forces you to wrap your legs around his trunk. Hiking your skirt, feeling the delicious pull of your soaked panties and nylons; perfectly nestling your aching center deliciously against his firm abdomen. _Jesus. You’ve never been so wet._ The man has barely touched you. He groans in response to your whimper.

This causes him to break the kiss for a moment and lock eyes with you. Just as your hips give an experimental thrust, Skinner pulls back; panting, eyes wild.

“ _Jesus._ I don’t—I am so sorry,” he starts to retreat from you, sitting back on his haunches, “I-I can’t be taking advantage of you like this. This is wron—“

“No,” you’re breathless, “ _Please_ , _no_ ,” tears color your words, “I need you. I need to _feel_ — ** _God_** _—“_ You stop to bite back a moan as he moves his hands to your legs, inadvertently digging the seam of your panty hose right into your clit. _Holy_ _fuck_. You felt _that._  

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” So tenderly, his strong fingers reach for your hips and massage blood back to the area. It’s understandable that he would ask that question. Walter Skinner is a large man. Probably has stretched a few women to their limit. You don’t give a shit if you’re only five two; you do Bickram yoga three times a week, he can spread your legs as wide as he wants. _Anytime_.

“ _Jesus, no.”_ You huff out a laugh, brushing the lose hair from your eyes. You stop to look him up and down.

Even though his trousers are a dark charcoal, your eyes still catch the obvious tent of his erection. No amount of pleating could hide this man’s delicious secrets. You imagine being in a long-winded meeting with him and reaching under the table to take him in your fist. He catches the object of your deliberate study, yet makes no move to cover himself.

You must also look like someone’s office wet dream. Hot, mussed, skirt bunched around your waist, one knee hooked over an arm rest, and seriously contemplating rubbing yourself through your hose and underwear. In fact, you’re pretty certain you could come easily with him watching you like that.

 _“You want to do this?”_ Christ! The rasp of his voice and his predatory stare; your pussy clenches at the thought of what’s to come. How does he not know?

“ _Yes_ , _oh God. I need to feel grounded. I feel safe with you,_ ” you both balk for a moment at your frank admission. Part of your rational mind kicks in and you bite on your bottom lip, “But, not here.”

He rises and pulls you to stand in his space; delicately, Skinner readjusts your clothing. Smoothing out wrinkles, allowing his hands to linger a bit longer than necessary. He moves to your blouse.

“You didn’t—,” his thumbs languidly circle your nipples. Your hands fly to his waist, encircling him in your embrace; his erection prods insistently at your stomach.

He straightens your collar, never breaking eye contact, and deftly slips his jacket from around you.

“I’ll drive. You gather your things.” It sounds like business. Work. Bullpen discussion. Just as you begin to doubt, he brings his hand around the back of your neck and pries your mouth open with his lips. He squeezes your ass as his tongue slides over your teeth. _Fuck, he’s good at this. You’ve never been kissed this thoroughly in your natural born life._

“Meet you in the parking garage in ten. Lot C,” once again, his fingers brush at your unruly hair.

“Mm…see you in ten minutes.” You’re not sure what in the hell possesses you; questing fingers trail over the fly of his pants and cup the firm length resting beneath the smooth cloth.  

 _“If you don’t stop,”_ he groans as you feel the weight of his balls, _“we won’t leave this office.”_

His offer is tempting. A quick fuck on his leather couch and off to the women’s room to cry your eyes out when he kicks you to the curb? _Ah. But, if he takes you to his place, there **may** be morning sex involved._

 _“Lot C,”_ he drops a kiss to your forehead, “ ** _five_** _minutes.”_

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Fingering the cold buttons on your coat, you wait for the damn elevator to come to a stop. Doors open and you round the corner at a brisk pace. The cold night air steals your breath and brings tears to your eyes.

There he is. Sensible company sedan idling at the end of the pick-up lane. Elbow propped against the driver’s window, cellphone poised over his ear, glasses still absent from his face; the scene is alluring and has you imagining that you’ve been dating for months and he’s taking you out after a hard day’s work. _Stop._ You shake the notion from your mind, watching him pull up, phone conversation coming to a close.

Warmth. Sweet glorious warmth. You notice he has the heater on full blast, his coat discarded in the back seat; he’s cranked it for you. And you’re eternally grateful. Skinner chuckles and reaches for his trench coat. The second the fabric hits your lap, you wrap yourself within it’s warm protection.

 _“God, you smell wonderful.”_ The statement slips from you, carried on a throaty sigh. He chuckles. His hand slips under the fabric and pushes your skirt up, finding a home on your bare thigh. It’s comforting. It feels so natural.

“I’ve ordered some food to be delivered. I, uh, haven’t eaten, wasn’t sure if you had. There’s nothing at the house,” he sounds endearingly nervous, “I hope Thai is alright.”

Your hand moves to cover his, weaving your fingers through his large one.

_“Thai is perfect.”_

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

You barely make it through the door. You can’t keep your damn hands off him. His ass. _Holy shit, his ass._ It’s magnificent. Glorious. You’ll never be able to look at anything again if this man is walking down the hallway.

It’s playful and light-hearted. _‘You’re going to get yours,’_ he chuckles in the elevator. You can’t fucking _wait!_ Nipping kisses and pinching fingers, until he wrestles you inside. The apartment door slams shut as he hauls your body to it with ease. The animal hunger in his eyes turns your insides to liquid. All the heat in your body pools in your already ruined underwear. A firm thigh slides between your legs and he settles you down on it.  

 _“Oh! Yessss.”_ He’s working on the buttons of your blouse while you shamelessly pump your hips against him. You’re open to him and he suckles a silk covered breast. Fingernails run over his scalp, pulling his head to your body. He bites down and your upper body arches off the door.

He releases your nipple and leans back to watch his hand trail over your naked belly. The unabashed concentration gives you a sense of confidence; seeing Skinner so ‘intrigued’ by you amplifies the flames his touch is burning into your abdomen.

 _“You’re breathtaking.”_ He slips below your skirt. _“So damned beautiful.”_ You moan as his broad fingers stroke slowly at the sodden fabric. _“Those men don’t deserve you.”_ He presses on your clit and you cry out.

Your hands roam his chest and shoulders, searching for something _anything_ to grab a hold of. Emotion and a primal need wash over you. He senses your urgency and pulls you to him; linking your arms around his neck, you rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you upstairs.

The only thing you are aware of is the places where your bodies meet. It’s maddening. Your blood is rushing in your ears as he deposits you on the soft bed. He removes your heels, sliding his hands up your legs. Without direction, his fingers find the zipper and clasp on the side of your skirt. His eyes dance with humor at your shock.

_“This isn’t my first Donna Karen.”_

You share a chuckle that gives way to a shudder as you lift your ass to shimmy out of it. He takes a finger and trails it over the seam of your nylons.

 _“Rip them,”_ you growl.

With the arch of an eyebrow, he leans forward and brings the flimsy fabric to worry between his teeth. Heated gazes locked, he pulls at them with his mouth and fingers, tearing them down the middle. _Thank you, God for this experience. You can die a happy woman._

You barely register him pushing your underwear aside to stroke through your wet folds. You feel so exposed, his breath skating over your heated flesh. Your hips wriggle as you beg for more substantial touch.

 _“Please…ohhh…”_ Is that begging really coming from your mouth? He hums lazily, circling his finger wide around your clit, spreading your wetness and avoiding applying pressure to where you really want it.

“You look good enough to eat. Is that what you want? What you’re pleading for?”

_“Yessss...”_

“I want to hear you say it.” He’s moving in a figure eight, aggravating your swollen lips further. You’re soaked, throbbing, _so ready._ For something. _Anything._ The thought of him fucking you senseless in less than an hour sends a tremor through your cunt. He pushes the pad of his finger at your entrance as your muscles clench in answer to your fantasy.

“ _Mm…I—ohhhhhh **God.** ” _He’s sliding the tip of his finger in and out of you. _Such a fucking tease!_

“So tight. I love the way you take me in. Drawing me deeper,” he licks at your clit and it feels like you’ve been electrocuted. “ _I want to be inside you. Feeling your muscles ripple.”_ The thought nearly causes brain damage. _“But this needs to last…”_ His musings trail away as his tongue finds a better use.

 _“Yesyesyesyes. Ohyoufeelsogoooooood...”_ There will never be another man to eat you out like this. He’s slow, steady, precise, and the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced. The sounds coming from him are full of greed. Your body continues to provide him with the bittersweet nectar that he continually praises and requests. A litany of ridiculous phrases pulled from Hugh Hefner’s greatest hits pour from your cotton-dry mouth. _This. Man. Knows. How. To. Eat. Pussy._ You’re pretty sure you’ve already told him six different times.  

Shallow pulses at the front of your opening herald one of the strongest orgasms you’ve had in a great while. Deep, unrelenting spasms bathe your abdomen in warmth. Your body breaks out into a cold sweat and the small portion of your mind that was working ceases to exist.

“That was incredible,” Skinner’s warm body engulfs yours, shielding you from the chill in the room. Licking, nipping, coaxing you back to life. “I wasn’t aware you spoke French.”

“Mm…did t’years abroad b’fore Quan-co.” Was that even a sentence? How are you speaking? He laughs, nuzzling your cheek and working his shirt open.

“Wonderful. I can honestly say that I will never forget having a woman shouting in French in the throws of orgasm,” you lean sleepily into the rough hand combing the hair from your eyes. “You rest. Sounds like food’s here.” A lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll bring it up. Dinner in bed.” There’s a smile in his voice.

“ _Mm_ … _yessssss_.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

It’s dark and quiet, save for the soft snores stirring the air behind you. It smells like Som Tam, spring rolls, and sex. You’re warm and have never felt so relaxed in your life. As if reading your mind, the bulky arm around your middle tightens and a long hard cock settles perfectly in your ass. Stifling a moan, you arch your back and press into it; thighs wet and sticky, you’re past ready for him to be inside you. _The Thai can wait_.

Raking your manicured nails over the coarse hair of the arm, you hum low in your throat. Rocking back at a slow maddening pace. Pulling his hand down your stomach and down to where you need them the most. Fingers twitch to life and zero in on your clit. Simultaneously, lips find your neck and the dormant man behind you returns your eager thrusts.

 _“I was sure you would sleep for another hour or so…”_ The sleep-warmed timber of his voice fills you with an urgent need. You turn in his embrace and moves to hover over you, settling between your open legs.

“I see you— _mmm_ —took the— _ahhhh_ —opportunity to get us both undressed.” Again. Speech is difficult while his wicked tongue laves your puckered nipples to full attention.

“Yes.” _Suck_. “You requested my assistance before I showered.” _Bite_. “I sleep in the nude,” he smiles as he rises to meet your lips, “I hope you don’t mind…”

You feel his dick twitching eagerly against your inner thigh. To show him how much you appreciate his lack of attire, you arch your back, resting your calves on his lower back; he nearly finds his way inside you.

 _“Ahhhhh…see you don’t minnnnnd,”_ he seems to be losing the power of speech as his swollen cock runs slowly through pulsing slit.

You continue to move in tandem with him, letting him lubricate himself; something sparkles in his dark eyes. There’s a connection made. The care and passion melting away his usual mask of indifference. _This_ is the man behind the desk. _This_ is the man that takes care of his agents. _This_ is Walter Skinner.

You reach up to cup his cheek; fascinated again by the power surging through him, yet he is gentle and loving. Your thumb trails over his bottom lip. Discovering. Exploring. _Loving._ The affection you feel for him overwhelms you and plucks at your raw nerves. He kisses your finger, never breaking eye contact. His cock brushes your clit and you both gasp.

 _“Tell me what you need.”_ It’s barely a whisper.

“ _Walter…”_ tears begin to choke you, “ _You. I—You’re…”_ You worry your lip and his eyes are drawn there. You have no idea what to say to convey all that is happening to you in this moment.   

 _“Show me what it is to be loved again.”_ The request takes you by surprise. Wetness runs freely from your eyes and he kisses it away.

 _“Of course.”_ It’s a promise. A promise that sounds like it may live beyond this night. This night that is rapidly evolving into the most wonderful night of your adult life.

With great care, he takes his throbbing cock in hand. You watch. A part of you needs to. To witness this union. Assure yourself that it’s real. Pressing into your wet tight pussy, he groans, eyes momentarily rolling back into his head. Periodically, you notice him check in. Gauging your reaction.

“ _All right?”_ You can barely breathe. Every inch of him invades you. It’s been a while and you’ve not had anyone quite this large before. The burn of the stretch is nearly too much, but the pleasure-pain of it bring you back to reality.

“ _D-Don’t st-op…”_ Honestly, if he does, you’re not sure you’ll let him try again. He shifts you, pulling the pillow from his side. Hips cushioned, the notion of what’s to come sends a renewed wetness gushing to meet him.

Groaning with the sensation, he moves slowly, with such discipline it’s impressive. Finally, he is seated to the hilt. You will your muscles to accept him, promising your body it will be well worth the adjustment.

He pulls out enough to catch the ridge of his head on that delicate little part of your front wall. The burning wanes, giving way to a dark ache. Your hips twitch and he returns. _God. **Damn.** He feels so good. So. Deep. _

Wordlessly, he drives into you. Gathering speed. Those eyes. They watch you. They speak volumes. You claw at his back, pull at his shoulders; anything to bring him closer. Knowing just what you need, Walter tucks his face into your neck.

Your harsh breath and teeth digging into the solid muscle of his shoulder are all you can manage. He grunts and drags his forehead to rest atop yours. His hands are now grasping your ass and thighs so tightly, you’re certain there will be bruises in the morning. _You couldn’t care less._

Your nipples brush against his chest hair and it’s _perfect._ The thrusts become short and powerful, the headboard picks up the rhythm and knocks in tandem with his dick pushing into you.

 _“God. Yes. Please. More. More. **More. Yes. YES.** ” _Every breath you’re allowed is devoted to praising this man. His glorious body. His magnificent cock. Gnashing teeth, swollen lips; his face falls back to your shoulder.

He’s expanding growing harder. Suddenly, his index finger is rubbing insistently at your clit. Sensation explodes over you; nipples tighten, belly trembles, pussy tightens and works his iron dick pistoning in and out of you.

His stoicism is broken by a muffled whine; it’s the hottest noise a man has made for you. Swallowing repeatedly, you attempt to catch your breath. The aftershocks of your orgasm is amplified by the fact that he’s still inside you. You never want him to leave.

He’s kissing your temple, murmuring unintelligible sweetness against your hair. This man. What a mystery. A beautiful, brooding, wonderful mystery.

“ _I…may never move again,”_ you chuckle in jest and his arms immediately tense.

“Did I--,” frantic eyes scan you and the warmth of his body leaving yours causes deep disappointment. You reassure him by pulling him back down to you. 

_“No. No,”_ you stroke what you can reach of his broad shoulder blades, _“It was amazing. **You** are amazing. I trust you with my body and m—” _

Your what? Your heart? _Jesus!_ He just took you home to fuck the post-case blues out of you and now you’re ready to profess your undying love?

Walter holds you closer, peppers your hair with kisses. Could he feel more for you? No. You’re dreaming. _This whole night is a fucking dream._

Your grumbling stomach interrupts the depth of the moment and he’s reaching for the cooling box of take out. Before you can reach for the chop sticks, he opens the container and pinches a bite. It dangles above your lips and you suck the entire thing into your mouth. A burst of flavor. The spices and his aftershave bring the rest of you to life.

 _“Mm...wonderful. Thai Bistro?”_ Another bite. You suck his finger a bit longer than necessary.

“No. Little Serow. The Bistro didn’t want to deliver this late.”

“How late is ‘this late’?”

He rolls over and pulls you along, resting you on his chest before pulling his watch from the bedside table.

“Nearly two. You slept for a while. I figured you’d need it. The Thai could wait.”

“What I needed was another mind-blowing orgasm. And yes, the Thai could wait. But, now…I have tasted the Thai and it will no longer wait.”

The container perched on his mesmerizing abs, you finger spoon more of the delectable food into your mouth. Forgetting about where you are. When you break from your Thai trance, you look up to see Walter; eyes closed peacefully, arm still wrapped around your waist, the other securing the take-out balanced on his midsection.

This man is everything. He deserves to have someone to come home to. To nurture. Love. Confide in. Keep warm. Buy Thai food for. What has kept him from having a relationship? It must not be easy. Being an agent. You know the risks. It’s what keeps most of the Hoover building from having a normal relationship.

 _“Finished yet?”_ A playful eye opens and spots you staring at him.

Nodding, you close the container and he takes it to rest on the bedside table next to his discarded watch.

“I was beginning to think you were profiling me,” you settle back against his chest, patting the firm pec beneath your cheek.

“Never. I don’t think I could crack you if I tried.”

“ _Mmhm. I’m not so sure.”_ His fingers tracing absent-minded patterns into the small of your back lulls you and your full belly back into blissful sleep.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

The warm scent of maple syrup and coffee waft to your nose. Instantly, you’re awake and looking for some kind of clothes to throw on. Descending the stairs, you turn the corner to see a portrait from your dreams.

Navy blue boxer briefs, clinging like a second skin to his mouth-watering ass. Rippling muscles moving hypnotically under smooth tanned skin as Assistant Director Walter-fucked-you-stupid-last-night-Skinner flips French Toast in a skillet. Whistling happily, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee.

You move forward, clad only in his button up from the previous day, and embrace him from behind. Without your heels, he towers over you.

“French Toast? _And coffee?”_ He turns in your arms and reaches for another mug on the opposite counter. You take the offered beverage and smirk over the steaming rim. “Looks like someone wants me to stay.”

He smiles briefly, then turns serious. Between sips of coffee, he kisses you deeply.

“I was hoping that you would. And possibly return? I’d understand it if--,” you place your finger over his lips.

_Return. He wants you to **‘return’.**_

“That sounds wonderful. I’d love to. If you’ll have me.”

“ _Always_.” He kisses your forehead and turns to remove the skillet from the fire. Before you can react, he plucks you effortlessly from the floor and deposits your bare ass on the cold marble of the countertop.

You startle and he apologizes, yet again. You’ll never tire of reassuring him of your swiftly developing connection. Placing the mug beside you, he grins shyly when your arms tighten behind his neck.

“You should do that more often,” his face breaks out in a full smile. Your Eskimo kisses are retuned accompanied by a few pecks on the lips.

“Do what,” he asks between deeper kisses.

“Smile,” your tongue teases his, “I understand why you don’t, though.” 

“Mmhm. And why is that?” The little rascal is unbuttoning your over-sized dress shirt. He hums while your fingers tickle his shoulders.

“It would ruin your reputation. People would know that you’re not as scary as you look.” He rests his forehead against yours and his hands still, resting warmly over your belly button.

“People think I’m ‘scary’?” You feel like an idiot.

“No! No, it’s the intimidating kind of scary. The ‘I’m your superior, you’re my subordinate, and you’d better do just as I say’ kind of scary.” He’s regarding you with a lopsided smirk.

“I’m…an idiot,” he laughs outright at your awkward admission.

“No. Never. You’re absolutely lovely,” adoration shimmers in your belly and fills your chest. “It’s part of the job, to be ‘scary’. It keeps questions to a minimum.” He shrugs in your embrace. “It also keeps relationships to a minimum.”

You bring your hands around to hold his face. You trace the lines you see there, crinkling his eyes and bracketing his beautiful mouth. Then, you suddenly embrace the urge to press his cheeks together, bringing his lips out in a ridiculous pout. His hands come to cover yours. You kiss his puckered lips and he remains frozen.

“I’m not afraid. I could never be afraid of you,” your legs come around his waist.

“Not afraid, hmm?” his hands travel over your body and grasp your hips. You squeal in delight as he pulls you from your perch and takes you to the couch.

“Mmm! No! French Toast,” you cry in jest between his kissing attacks.

“Shhh. The French Toast can wait…” When his tongue traces the tendons of your neck, he’s successfully persuaded you that the French Toast, will indeed, wait.


End file.
